


The Good Name of Baggins

by bewickedandlovely



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dwarves in the Shire, Getting Back Together, M/M, Past Relationship(s), The Shire, persuasion au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 04:23:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewickedandlovely/pseuds/bewickedandlovely
Summary: The Baggins' finances are not what they once were, and Bilbo finds himself with no option but to let his smial to a tenant of his Uncle Gorbadoc's choosing.When his tenants turn out to be a nice Dwarven family who may or may not be related to the travelling blacksmith Bilbo had once hoped to marry, he tries to convince himself he is equal to the task. By the time he learns that a visit from Thorin is imminent, he has stopped believing his own reassurances.





	The Good Name of Baggins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buckbeakbabie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckbeakbabie/gifts).



“Well, there's nothing for it,” Bilbo sighed, running a hand through his hair. His vision fairly swam with how long he'd been staring at the Baggins accounts. The paperwork recording the estate’s slow decline lay on the table in front of him, spread clear as day, black ink stark against the yellowing parchment.

“Nothing for it, I will have to let Bag End.”

“Bilbo, you cannot be serious," exclaimed Lobelia, exuding upright disbelief. "We cannot possibly let Bag End."

She scowled at him, looking for all the Shire like she had any right to be involved in this decision. Bilbo did not waste his time reminding her that she did not. Lobelia knew as well as Bilbo that the smial was his, and that hers and Otho’s say in its affairs was purely a courtesy their cousin extended them.

Instead of belabouring a point that did not need to be made, and would raise Lobelia’s hackles, Bilbo sighed and once again went over his reasoning with his cousins. The accounts were in bad shape, there had been little money coming in for years, and they had not lived frugally. Before their untimely deaths, Bungo and Belladonna had managed their finances well enough, but after they had gone when he’d been just a faunt, there had been many more expenses, and Bilbo had not known enough at that age to manage the purse strings as he should have.

“So you see Lobelia, unless you have a better plan to recover the Baggins’ finances, I’m afraid there is no other-”

“Really Bilbo, it cannot be that dire,” she interrupted, “You are blowing the issue out of proportion. What kind of a solution is letting our smial? To strangers?”

Before he could reply, she drew herself up and played her final card.

“Is this what you would have the good name of Baggins stand for?"

Bilbo went weak at the knees, stumbling back a step as if she had slapped him. It was a low blow, and Lobelia pressed her advantage, asking after what his poor, late father would think of this scheme. Bilbo did not hear her, struck by her earlier choice of words.

The name of Baggins. What would you have the good name of Baggins stand for?

She had asked that very question of him once before, long ago - did she remember? Surely even Lobelia would not be so cruel as to bring up his old heartache as another weapon in her arsenal. If she even remembered the proposal, the gifts Thorin had made for him, modest but perfect. If she even knew how much the loss pained him still.

No, she could not know. She had washed her hands of the whole affair long ago, as soon as she'd been reassured that the name of Baggins would not now, nor never be besmirched by association with a dwarf, a mere travelling blacksmith at that.

"Bilbo? BILBO!"

Lobelia had advanced on his armchair, and now stood right up to him, hands on her hips and glaring with all her might.

"It is decided, Lobelia," he said, surprising her as much as himself with his decisiveness. There was an undercurrent of steel to his voice, for all that it was shrouded in weary exhaustion. He had weighed his options and was steady in his conviction.

"I will let Bag End, and I will restore the estate to solvency. As for the name of Baggins, I will not let it stand for going into debt and being unable to repay our creditors.”

*

Of course, Bilbo had known that simply putting his foot down as he’d done the previous day would never be enough to silence Lobelia on the matter.

“But what shall we do with ourselves?” Lobelia protested. Again. “Where shall we go after you turn us out?”

“It is hardly turning you out Lobelia, since I am going also,” Bilbo countered. Again.

“My dear girl, you have so many options,” said Bilbo’s Great Uncle Gorbadoc, taking Lobelia's hand and giving it a small pat. “You can stay with family, perhaps visit with the Gracebirdles, or the Sackvilles since Bilbo will already be staying at Brandy Hall with Drogo and Primula. You could stay in East Farthing, or take up a small smial in Michel Delving if you wish.”

Behind Lobelia, Otho’s face shone with fear and excitement at the possibility of staying in such a faraway place as Michel Delving. Even Lobelia was starting to look mollified. Michel Delving boasted more than one tailor renowned throughout the Shire, and there was a real antique furniture dealer there, with her own shop.

“And so long as no one draws funds from the Bag End account until the situation is resolved, the estate should be solvent again soon enough,” said Gorbadoc, pinning Lobelia with a glare that would have had braver Hobbits cowering.

Lobelia did not flinch, but held herself very straight, her face a mask of outrage, as if she were suffering a great blow and bearing it with fortitude. Of course, she had absolutely no claim to draw funds from the Baggins estate. Yet she had been using Bilbo’s money quietly and without shame since Otho had been granted access to the account to pay for Bungo and Belladonna’s funerals.

And Bilbo did not even begrudge his cousins a share of his funds, not really. They were family after all, and they had lived at Bag End with him for so very long that it seemed proper that they should share in his estate when his fortune was good. But he wished they would keep out of his affairs now. He could not let the estate be run into the ground and pretend that all was well.

Otho and Lobelia had done much for him, he reminded himself. The Thain had been right all those years ago, in saying Bilbo had been too young to live on his own, and that the smial had been too big for one Hobbit on his own. What a dreadful lonely time it had been.

Bilbo shook his head of the memories, focusing his attention again on his Great Uncle.

“You should not have to let Bag End for more than a year, Bilbo, two at most,” said Gorbadoc.

“That is,” said Lobelia, a deep frown creasing her forehead, “If suitable tenants can be found. They should the proper sort of people. We must think of the standing of the Baggins name.”

Bilbo sighed, not bothering to hide his exasperation with her. She had gotten herself much too used to making decisions on behalf of the Baggins family name and its propriety and standing, for all that she was barely a Baggins herself, and then again only by marriage.

“Dear Cousin, I have every confidence in my Great Uncle Gorbadoc. He would never put forward any tenant who would be unsuitable to stay in Bag End.”

Lobelia was stuck, and if the pinched look on her face was any indication, she knew it. She couldn’t contradict him now without insulting old Gorbadoc, a perfectly respectable Hobbit and the Master of Buckland to boot.

He hadn’t wished to force her hand. Bag End had been her home these past ten years, for all that it belonged solely to him. Whatever it was she thought of him, he had no wish to turn her out. But he could see now that she would oppose every proposed tenant unless he did something about it.

"In fact," he said, sitting up in his chair as if something was occurring to him for the first time, "I am sure my Great Uncle of Buckland is much better suited to the task of choosing a tenant than I. Gorbadoc, if you please, I would delegate this task to you? I know whomever you choose will be a perfectly proper and decent tenant."

Bilbo smiled widely as Gorbadoc agreed to advertise the letting discretely, and appraise Bilbo of any suitable tenant. His Great Uncle's knowing smile told Bilbo the old Hobbit knew exactly what was afoot.

"You see, Otho, Lobelia! It need not be arduous for us at all," Bilbo enthused, infusing his voice with more cheer than he felt. He was just relieved. "You can decide what you wish to do, where to go, and we can all pack and move our things without a worry, and Great Uncle Gorbadoc will bring us a tenant. Since we all trust his judgement absolutely, I declare I will let Bag End to whomever our good Master of Buckland deems acceptable."

*

Bilbo should have known better than to make any grand declarations, he told himself a fortnight later, standing in the front room at Bag End, ready to meet the new tenants Gorbadoc had already vetted.

In a few moments, strangers would walk into the only home Bilbo had ever known, and settle there for a year, perhaps two, perhaps more. Gorbadoc sounded confident that a year would go a long way to repair the finances of the estate, but what if it was not enough? Bilbo knew he was right in letting Bag End, but neither this certainty nor the assurances he'd given Lobelia could really ease his mind.

What would his father think of the scheme? He hated to imagine it.

He had been all bravado when he'd promised to take the first tenants Gorbadoc approved of, and now they were on their way in and he was on his way out. He'd finished packing the night before, sending a great trunk and three suitcases forward to Drogo and Primula's smial this morning. Thank goodness Hamfast had come with his cart and pony to lend a hand, or Bilbo would never have had time to prepare the rest of the house. He'd wrapped up and packed away in the cellar the things he could not take with him, and made sure the smial looked its best, stocking up the pantry with some essentials as a gesture of goodwill, and double checking the towels and bedding in the airing cupboard to alleviate his nerves.

And now there was only waiting left.

"Do say, Gorbadoc, when will these people be here?" asked Lobelia.

She sat in an armchair besides the cold hearth with her back held much too straight. Bilbo knew from her posture she was furious, and a little afraid. She and Otho had decided to retire to Michel Delving after all. Not the most economical option for sure, but the Sackville-Baggins accounts had not been used for some time, and couldn't be in too much disrepair. Bilbo hoped fiercely that being away in an exciting new place would ease some of the sting they surely felt at being forced to leave Bag End.

"They should be here any moment now, my dear," Gorbadoc stood nearest the front door, his thumbs hooked under his wide belt. He looked for all the world as if this were something he did every day, as if welcoming new tenants to his nephew's smial were no stranger than a visit to the market of a sunny morning.

“They were planning to set off at break of day.” Gorbadoc held up a small square of parchment, likely a message from the new tenants with details of their arrival. Bilbo realised he still did not even know anything about them, besides that they would sleep under his roof tonight instead of him. “They may be delayed, they are travelling with two small children, and the roads from the Blue Mountains can be treacherous at this-”

“From the Blue Mountains?” Bilbo stammered, his mind now racing.

Was his smial being let to Dwarves? That would not be so bad, Bilbo reasoned, reminding himself forcefully that he actually liked Dwarves. He liked them quite a bit. They were serious about their crafts, but irreverent in most other things, and he’d become friends with all the Dwarves he’d met.

“Why yes, of course,” said Gorbadoc with a mischievous twinkle to his eye, “Did I forgot to mention that our new tenants are a young Dwarven family fr-”

“DWARVES?” cried Lobelia and Otho together, jumping to their feet as one.

Bilbo sighed and motioned for Gorbadoc to ignore his outraged cousins and continue speaking. Really, how could they not know that the Blue Mountains meant Dwarves? They’d lived in the Shire their whole lives, just like Bilbo, and the Blue Mountains were so very close by.

“Yes, Dwarves, and very respectable Dwarves at that. A very good family, all very proper I assure you. They have two young boys, as I said, and the lady’s family is of some sort of note. Very respectable.”

Right, Bilbo thought. There was no need to panic, not yet. He had not met many Dwarves for sure, but they’d all been jolly good fellows. Surely that meant he had a good chance to get on well with his new tenants. He hoped so, at any rate.

“And what family is that?”

Bilbo had almost forgotten his cousins were in the room, but of course, Otho and Lobelia, once recovered from their initial shock, would be interested in any family ‘of note’, even Dwarven.  
“Well, the husband is called Vili, and the lady-” Gorbadoc started.

“Vili? Just ‘Vili’? What kind of name is that? Has he no family name?”

“Dwarves do not keep family names, Otho, surely you know that,” Bilbo snapped without thinking. He could just envision how rude his cousins would be to the poor Dwarves if they were allowed in each other’s presence for any length of time.

“Ah yes, of course Bilbo, you would know all about Dwarves, wouldn’t you,” said Lobelia, her smile too sweet by halves.

Bilbo tensed. She remembered and she knew. She remembered the last time Dwarves had come to Hobbiton, and she knew Bilbo’s knowledge had been acquired through an interest not wholly academic.

“Yes precisely, our Bilbo always liked stories about Dwarves and Elves and the like,” said Gorbadoc, clapping his hands together, smiling widely and sounding very pleased with himself, as if he’d pulled an excellent practical joke and they were all of them rolling on the floor laughing. “And you were friends with those Dwarven traders who came to spend the summer before. I thought to myself, ‘Gorbadoc, if the lad has to watch strangers living in his house, at least give him some interesting neighbours’, heh Bilbo?”

“Ah yes, that was– good thinking, Uncle Gorbadoc. Very thoughtful, thank you.”

Bilbo tried his best to smile and act grateful. His Great Uncle knew nothing of Thorin, or the fateful engagement, nothing of Bilbo ever having designs to leave the Shire on the arm of a travelling blacksmith. He had only been acting out of kindness, there were no insinuations to his choices, no motivation other than to improve Bilbo’s poor situation somewhat.

“As I was saying, the Dwarf is called Vili, and his wife is a lady by the name of Dis. Her family is…”

Bilbo did not hear what her family was. He was struggling to keep to his feet, his ears buzzing, a cold sweat coming over him all at once. A lady called Dis? A Dwarven lady from the Blue Mountains called Dis? Thorin’s sister was called Dís. Not quite the same name, but most likely that was due to Gorbadoc garbling the Dwarven pronunciation for it.

She could not be the same Dís, could she? There were probably a number of Dwarven women called Dís or even Dis. Those might well be popular names amongst Dwarves. And Gorbadoc had said her family was ‘of some note’. Surely that meant his new tenant had some sort of wealth, maybe even a title. For all that Bilbo’s memories painted Thorin as talented, intelligent, noble of bearing and altogether an excellent Dwarf, well– Thorin had been a travelling blacksmith. That had been the heart of the issue really. No matter Thorin’s good qualities, he had not been of a noteworthy family, he’d had no wealth except what he could craft, no title except that of the finest blacksmith to have ever passed through the Shire.

No, if this Lady Dis was really of a fine, important family, she could not be related to Thorin, she could not–

There came a knock at the door.

Bilbo jumped to his feet and beat his Uncle to the round, green door of his smial. He was still the host here, for a few moments more, and he would do the honours.  
He opened the door to reveal two grown Dwarves and two Dwarven fauntlings, all wearing hooded cloaks. Bilbo gulped down his nervousness and invited them inside, doing his best to ignore the deep blue of their cloaks, the same shade Thorin had always worn.

“Thank you, Master Hobbit,” said the Dwarf who must be Vili, pushing back his hood.

Bilbo opened his mouth, but his polite reply died on his lips as the lady pushed back her own hood to reveal a face Bilbo had thought never to see again.

He could hardly breathe. She had the same piercing blue eyes, the same cheekbones. He knew she was not Thorin, she could not be – her built was different, the curve of her nose was softer, her mouth fuller under her whiskers. All the same, there could be no doubt as to who…

Bilbo took a deep breath, steadying himself.

“Master Vili, Lady Dís,” he said, inclining his head to them in turn. “Be welcome to Bag End.”


End file.
